


A Light in the Darkness

by krazyk2314



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dark fic, F/M, First Blade, Mark of Cain Dean, Pain, Reader Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-01-04 13:36:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18344753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krazyk2314/pseuds/krazyk2314
Summary: Raised in the Hunter life, Y/N has turned to collecting ancient and unique items. When she gets wind of the First Blade, she knows she will do anything to get her hands on it.





	1. Chapter 1

Your house was filled to the brim with the most unique collection of items. Pieces that had only been whispered about. Most of them you sold, some for even millions of dollars. Others, you kept, decorating your home with talisman’s that brought you luck, or good fortune. A select few you kept close to you, giving you comfort that if things came after you, you were safe.   
But there was one item that you had never been able to get your hand on. It had been nothing more than a myth, stories passed down for centuries. Of a wicked looking blade that killed any sort of mythical being, including Knights of Hell. It had never been seen, not since it had been in the hand of Cain himself, and it was the one item that you had always wanted to find. Who knew how much someone would pay for that if you could force yourself to part with it. If you could ever get your hands on the ancient relic.   
You had almost given up hope until a couple of weeks ago. After almost getting trapped in a cave for an ancient Celtic protection charm, you had been ready to head to the Bahama’s for some rest and relaxation. You had made quite a bit of money off of that last find. Enough that you could spend the next couple of months doing whatever you wanted.   
And at first, nothing had sounded better than sun, beaches and pina coladas. But once you had heard of the first blade making its first appearance in centuries, it was all you could think about. You wanted it. No needed it for your collection. You already had the perfect spot for it, secure enough that no one would ever be able to lay a hand on it.   
It was frustrating. Knowing it was out there, but not knowing exactly where it was. You had to stay patient, researching. You dreamed about it, seeing it in the hands of this man. His grip was tight, his shoulders strong as he easily sliced and killed with the powerful blade. His eyes were a brilliant green, his features strong and handsome. He was almost as mesmerizing as the blade in his hand, and you wanted to know more about this mystery man. Who he was, how he was capable of wielding the most powerful weapon in the world.   
With little else to go on, you began searching through newspaper articles for bloody, horrific deaths. You knew the blade controlled those wielding it, making them do horrific things. It didn’t take long before you began to find a pattern of bloody deaths in the midwest. Never a mention of your mystery man. But you had it narrowed down to a small part of the country, mainly around Kansas.   
Packing up your suitcase with wigs, weapons, and spells, you slid behind the wheel of your sleek, cherry red Porsche, pointing it west, settling in for a long car ride.   
As the night sky blurred above you, your phone dinged, another notification of the first blade’s destruction, you realized you were only an hour away from the bloodbath. With the speed of your Porsche, you could probably make it in half an hour and maybe even find the guy from your dreams. If he existed. You hoped he did because you couldn't wait to meet the man who could wield such power. And the collector part of you wished that maybe he could become part of your collection as well.   
While you wanted to head to the crime scene right away, you had to keep your priorities straight. Stopping at the only five-star restaurant in the small city, you booked the suite. Touching up your makeup, you changed your jeans for a black pencil skirt. A white blouse and black blazer completed the look, along with your fake FBI badge. Hunters weren’t the only ones who dabbled with false ID’s.   
The crime scene was mostly clear. A cop car was leaving just as you pulled up, but another car was still parked in front. A long, black classic muscle car. Running your manicured fingers along the gleaming paint, your heels clicked as you walked up the sidewalk.   
Without knocking, you stepped into the shabby apartment, immediately getting taken back by the mess in front of you. Sure, you weren’t a hunter, but you had been raised by one. You had seen many things in your life, but this might be the bloodiest. Bodies lay everywhere, covered blood and things you didn’t even want to try to name. Dark red blood covered everything. The walls, the floor, the windows. There was five, no six bodies in the main room, carved up by a wicked blade. A blade you had dreamt about for so long. Your hands just itched to wrap around it. You were so close, you could feel it. The power of it.   
“Can we help you?” A deep, rumbling voice called out, pulling you out of your daydreaming. “This is closed scene.”   
You pulled your badge out of your pocket, flashing it in annoyance. “I’m Agent Larsen. I’ve been called to this case.”  
“Hmm, so have we,” the voice growled low in his throat, and you finally glanced up. Freezing as the vibrant green eyes from your dreams stared down at you.  
“You’re…,” you stuttered. It was rare that you were speechless, but you had never expected this man to be real. He was even more handsome than you had dreamed. You were rarely caught speechless, but this man had done it with only a glance.   
“Do I know you?” He asked, his voice as strong as steel, a cold glint to his eyes. A normal person would have taken a step back, instantly cowering under the hint of violence in his tone. But you stayed in place, tilting your head back to stare up at him. “No, you don’t. I was just mistaken for a moment. It looks like you’re done here. How about we meet sometime tonight and go over your notes?”   
“Not going to check it out for yourself?” He sneered, but you could sense a hint of despair in his voice. It didn’t surprise you. Sure, he had been strong enough to wield the blade, but it had to be eating him from the inside out. All of that power didn’t come without consequences.   
“Oh, I will,” you assured him. “But I also want to hear what you two other agents have to say as well.”  
By this time he had been joined by another man. Taller and lankier, your instincts told you these men were brothers or had worked together for quite some time. Definitely hunters.   
“Dean, it wouldn’t hurt,” the new man suggested, giving you a name to go with the face.   
Dean shook his head, his eyes narrowing in annoyance. “We don’t need any help. This case is cut and dried. You can just head back to your little office job and leave the field work to us.”   
With your hands on your hips, it was your turn to narrow your eyes up at him. “Excuse me?”   
Dean took a step closer to you, his hands curled into fists at his sides. “You heard me. You are not needed here, so why didn’t you get your designer suit out of here.”   
You wanted to slap him, but you forced yourself to control your temper. You needed him, needed to get close enough to him to find the First Blade. No matter how much you wanted to slap that smug smile from his face. “You don’t know who you’re messing with,” he muttered before turning on his heel and heading outside.   
“Is he always like that?” You asked the other man, hoping he was a little nicer than his partner.   
He shrugged, his shaggy hair flopping in the movement. “He’s been a little on edge lately. But don’t take it to heart. I’m Sam by the way.”   
“Y/N. Listen, I didn’t mean to cross any boundaries, but…,”   
“Are you really an Agent?” He blurted out. “Because anyone can make fake ID’s anymore.”  
“You mean like hunters?”   
His hazel eyes widened, his lips opening up to answer you when Dean called out from the car, his voice even grumpier.   
“Listen, I’ve got to go before he…,” Sam started. “But we’ll be at the local bar, probably around eight tonight. Meet us there and we can talk.”


	2. Chapter 2

You stared at the contents of your suitcase, trying to figure out exactly what you wanted to wear. Nothing you had packed seemed right for meeting up with the Winchester brothers. You had dress slacks, and skirts, along with a couple of dresses. Everything that you usually wore while pretending to be an FBI agent. Or when you met your clients. Top of the end clothing that showed how influential you were. That you could run with the big dogs.  
At the bottom of your suitcase was a seldom worn pair of jeans. Still designer, the rips strategically placed, costing more than the hotel room you were staying in. They were soft to the touch, the dark denim tight against your skin, showing off your shapely legs.   
You paired it with the only simple t-shirt you had brought with you. It was your guilty pleasure, one that you often wore while lounging in the room, or at home. It was a band shirt, your favorite band in fact. It was AC/DC, the words slightly worn on the front. It had laces out front, letting you tighten or show as much cleavage as you want. With the jeans, you actually felt like you might fit the bar scene.   
Taking your room key, some money and your id, you decided to walk to the bar. It was only a couple of blocks away, and you needed the time to think. You hadn’t expected to meet Dean Winchester so soon. Or to be so taken away by the man. There was something about him, that made you almost forget that he was a job.   
But it wasn’t just that. Everything about him screamed danger. To walk away and forget all about the First Blade. It was in the way he held his shoulders, the tension in them just itching for a fight. His green eyes had been cold, calculating. You were more than a little scared, and excited o see how he handled this meeting tonight.   
His gleaming black car was already parked at the bar even though it was still ten minutes before you were supposed to meet. The rest of the parking lot was sparse, only a couple of rust buckets parked towards the back. Straightening your top, you pushed your hair back off your shoulders before pushing the door open.  
Classic rock blared from the speakers, vibrating through your system. If you hadn’t been so nervous you would have enjoyed the music a little bit more. But you were too busy scanning the room, searching for the man in question.   
He wasn’t hard to find. Sitting in the corner booth, a glass of whiskey in his hand, he was bathed in shadows. His eyes were surveying the entire body, on full alert. You could tell the exact moment he noticed you. His lip curled up in a smile, his index finger tapping against the glass as he gave your body the once over. He must have liked what he saw, because he slipped his hand off of the glass, crooking his fingers in an invitation to join them.   
You took a moment to take a deep breath, to control your emotions. You had faced some of the most powerful people in the world. You could certainly face this certain green-eyed hunter.   
“I was wondering if you were brave enough to join us,” Dean spoke, standing up so you could slide in the booth to join him. Sam, who you hadn’t seen before, was sitting across from him, a cold beer bottle sitting untouched in front of him. “What’s your poison?”  
“Excuse me?” You asked, just as he slid in beside you, trapping you against the wall. His thick thigh brushed against your own, the muscle twitching as he turned to face you.  
“I don’t take you for a wine girl,” he muttered, reaching over and taking your chin in his grasp. It was a demanding touch, too much from someone you had just met. You wanted to pull away, but you couldn’t. If this was a game he was playing, you didn’t want to show any weaknesses. Not when he had something that you wanted. “Nor a fancy little cocktail. So tell me, what is your choice of alcohol.”   
“Whiskey,” you managed to say. “I like whiskey.”   
Your answer seemed to be the right one. Smiling, he beckoned the waitress over, ordering another round for everyone, including your drink as well. “So, now that we have the drinks out of the way, let’s hear about you. I know you’re name is Y/N, and you’re not really FBI. So, spill.”   
Before you could answer, the waitress was back with your drink, which you were grateful for. While you wanted to slam the drink back, you took only a sip, letting the warmth of the alcohol bolster you.  
“No, I’m not. And neither are you. You’re hunters.”   
He chuckled, taking a healthy sip of his own whiskey. “You called us hunters. Aren’t you?”   
For a moment you considered lying to him. Telling him you were a hunter in need of help. But you had a feeling he would see right through every lie you told him. “I’m not exactly what you would call a hunter. I collect things, valuable, ancient items that people might want for quite the price.”  
“Like Bella,” they both grumbled at the same time. Even in the shadows, you could see Sam reaching into his pocket for his gun. Dean reached into his jacket, and you waited with baited breath to see if he pulled out the First Blade. Wondering if he actually carried it with him, or…  
But it wasn’t the blade he pulled out. It was a flask, along with a rolled piece of leather. “I don’t think you’ll mind if we do a couple of tests?”   
Without answering, you reached over, grabbing the flask and taking a healthy swallow of the holy water before taking the silver knife, grimacing slightly as the blade dug into your skin. “Happy? And who is this Bella you speak of?”   
Dean stared at Sam for a moment, both of them silent before Dean finally put away the flask and knife. “For now. Bella was a two-timing, scheming woman who cared more about the price of the items than the people she double-crossed. And if you are anything like her…,”   
“I’m not!” You exclaimed, holding your hands up in the air. “I collect things, true. And sell them, many times for a hefty price. But there are also times I help hunters. I give them the items they need or find them when all other resources have failed.”  
Sam leaned forward, a little more curious than his brother. Dean was sitting there, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. “And what was a little antique collector doing at our hunt today?”


	3. Chapter 3

Any normal person would have melted under the stares both brothers were sending your way while they waited for your answer. But you were used to it. Used to men who used intimidation to get what they wanted. Men who considered you nothing more than a little girl. A woman who is good for nothing more than cooking them dinner and spreading your legs.   
You weren’t sure if that’s exactly what they were thinking. But they were both big, alpha type men who were used to getting what they wanted, and letting nothing stand in their way. “I wanted to meet the two of you,” you started to say, choosing your words carefully. “I had always heard about the famous Winchester brothers and the giant Bunker full of items. I wanted to meet you, hoping that maybe we could come up with some sort of arrangement.”  
“You want us to let you into the bunker so you can rob us blind,” Dean grumbled, lifting open his jacket to show you his hand was on the handle of his gun.   
“Dean lets listen,” Sam tried to say, talking his brother down. You hadn’t heard that Dean was this hot headed, but if he was holding the First Blade, he very well could have the Mark. And you had no idea what the Mark would make him like.   
“I promise, no robbing you blind,” you tried appeasing him, even though you were planning on getting what you wanted. Even if it meant slipping out with it in the dead of night. You liked to live above stealing, but sometimes it was a necessary evil. “I just want us to be associates.”   
Dean leaned back, crossing his arms across his chest. “What’s in it for us?”   
“I heard you were attempting to kill a Knight of Hell,” you said. “I might have the ingredients of a….,”  
“Already done,” Dean grumbled, his jaw clenching. “What else?”   
“I have a very vast and varied collection. I’m sure there is something you would need. If not now, then at some point down the road.”   
“And what do you want in return?”  
You had already thought this out. Of course, they wouldn’t just hand over the First Blade. You had to get them to trust you first, and if you asked for something too big…, you would be screwed. “I believe you might have a book. I’d like to borrow it, that’s all.”   
Dean reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet and dropping a couple of twenties on the table. “Give us your address, we’ll send you a copy of the pages. Now if you’ll excuse us, Sam and I have a hunt we need to finish.”   
He stood up, heading out of the bar while Sam stayed behind, offering you an apologetic smile. “He’s been going through a rough time lately,” Sam apologized for his brother. “But if you give me your phone number, we can certainly work something out.”   
After switching phone numbers, you watched as Sam hurried off to join his brother. This hadn’t gone at all as you had hoped for. You would have to figure something out before they finished the hunt and headed back to their fortress.   
Sighing, you downed the rest of your drinking before ordering another. You needed time to think, to come up with a plan, and you really didn’t feel like heading back to your hotel room quite yet.   
Almost three drinks in, you were finally starting to get a buzz, but you were no further on your plan to retrieve the First Blade. The bar was getting crowded, a group of drunk college students dancing and playing pool towards the back while people that had just gotten off of work were sitting at the bar.   
You had stayed in the booth, letting the shadows hide you from the wandering eyes of the men at the bar. The waitress kept a fresh supply of booze and french fries your way, while you contemplated breaking into Dean’s hotel room. But you kept running into problems. First of all, he would probably be carrying the blade with him during the hunt. So, while he was sleeping would be your only other choice, yet that wasn’t looking great either. As a hunter, he had to have amazing reflexes, and heightened senses. He would notice you as soon as you slipped into the room, taking away all of your credibility. Which led you right back to square one. Nowhere.   
While you had your eyes closed in contemplation, another person entered the bar, immediately stopping when he noticed you exactly where he had left you.   
It wasn’t until he plopped down in the seat across from you that you opened your eyes, instinctively reaching for the knife tucked into your jeans. “What the hell are you still doing here?” He grumbled, his hand around a glass of whiskey.   
Rolling your eyes, you placed your hands back on top of the table. “What does it look like I’m doing? I needed to unwind a little bit, and their french fries are amazing.”   
Without even asking, Dean reached over, taking a handful for himself. “You’re right. These are great,” he mumbled, his mouth full.   
You wanted to yell at him, to smack his hand away from the fries. But you also wanted to get closer to him. To finally see the blade that had only been a myth. So you stayed silent, waving your hand at the waitress for another round. “So Sam might have yelled at me for being a prick earlier,” Dean continued, one cheek puffed out with french fries, his words mumbled. “I’ve just been on edge a lot lately, and in our line of work it’s hard to trust new people.”   
You understood completely, but you were a little surprised that he was apologizing. He didn’t seem like the type. “I get it. In both of our lines of working trusting someone could mean death. But I hope you realize that I’m not here to double cross you.”   
Following the french fries with the rest of his whiskey, he nodded. “Sam said to trust you. That he did research, and you’re exactly as you say. So I guess it’s good luck that you’re still here, huh?”   
Smiling his way, you downed the rest of your drink, letting the warmth settle in your belly. “So where does that leave us?”   
Raising an eyebrow, he shrugged. “Drinking buddies for now?”   
As the empty glasses multiplied on the table in front of you, you wondered where this jovial, fun Dean Winchester had been when you had first met. He had been so cold, so full of aggression and hate. But now, you almost felt as if the two of you could be friends. Or even more, you admitted to yourself. You were attracted to him.  
“You’ve been to Hell?” You found yourself asking as he told you his story of going to hell and back. “I’ve heard of a lot of things, but actually coming back?”   
“Sam and I? We’ve done a lot of things that aren’t normal for most people,” he told you almost proudly. “And see this?” He asked, rolling the sleeve of his maroon flannel up. “This is the Mark of Cain.”  
“No way!” You exclaimed, one piece of the puzzle finally falling into place. If he had the Mark, then he could definitely wield the First Blade with ease. “How did you come by that?”   
He leaned over the table, his face only inches away from yours. “I needed to kill a Knight of Hell. I found Cain, he transferred it over.”  
“Dean,” you whispered, getting caught up in the plumpness of his lips, the way his eyes sparkled as he told his stories. Almost forgetting what you had come here for. “Do you want to get out of here?”


	4. Chapter 4

In only minutes you were sitting in the passenger seat beside Dean as his sleek Impala roared down the street. He had one hand on the steering wheel, the other reaching over, pulling you close to his side. His hand rested possessively on your upper thigh, his palm warm, even through your jeans. His thumb brushed your bare skin through the ripped part of your jeans, his skin rough against yours.

With the alcohol coursing through you, making you brave, you slid your hand across the leather seat, over his denim-clad thigh, brushing against the thick bulge underneath. He hissed, his entire body clenching under your touch. And for a moment you swore the red mark on his arm almost glowed.

“As much as I’d like for that pert little mouth on my cock right now, I really don’t want to wreck my baby,” he muttered, taking your hand and placing it back in your lap. You made no more moves, letting his hand rest possessively on your thigh, wondering for a moment if you were making the right decision. After all, you had done your research on the Mark and the blade and you knew what they were capable of.

“Home sweet home,” Dean spoke up, slowing the Impala to a stop in front of a run-down hotel room. Number 19, with its drab olive green door and green and orange curtains off to the left. The sidewalk was cracked, and you swore there was a drug dealer at the end.

By the time you were out of the car, Dean was already at the door, unlocking it and shoving it open. “What about Sam?” You finally thought to ask as Dean leaned against the doorframe.

He shrugged. “I texted him. He found another place to stay for the night.”

You nodded, your throat suddenly dry as you moved to stand in front of Dean. He moved back, just slightly, enough that you could duck under his arm to enter his room. You immediately took stock of your surroundings, looking for any place he could have hidden the blade.

There were two beds against the wall on the right, the comforters just as ugly as the curtains. A small table sat off to the side of the window, a dresser, and TV the only other decorations in the small room. A duffle bag was thrown beside the dresser, your first hope that maybe the blade was in here.

Your appraisal quickly came to a halt when Dean spun you around, pushing you against the door. His large frame blocked yours, his hips pressing against yours to show you exactly what he was ready for. “I didn’t bring you back here just to look the room over,” he muttered low in his throat, his hand tight on your side. “Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts.”

Quickly you shook your head no. “I was just getting time to adjust. After all, I don’t do this often.”

“Good,” he growled, his hand sliding up your shirt to cup your breast through your bra. “I didn’t think you did.”

You tilted your head back, the feel of his large hand on your skin, even through the lace of your bra had your skin burning, and you wanted more. “Greedy?” He chuckled, roughly pushing the cup of your bra down while his other hand shoved your shirt up, leaving you bare to his gaze. “Beautiful,” he whispered, running the pad of his thumb across your nipple. His other hand was working at the button of your jeans, opening them before sliding in to cup your mound.

You groaned, your hips arching into his touch when he suddenly pulled away. Through heavy-lidded eyes, you watched as he tugged your jeans and panties down in one move, leaving them around your ankles. Sinking down to his knees, he braced his hands on the door behind you, burying his nose between your thighs. “You smell amazing,” he muttered against your skin, breathing in deep, causing you to blush. You had never had that type of compliment before, at least not for down there.

“Thank you,” you muttered. “I pay a lot for my body wash.”

He shook his head, his bread chafing the sensetive skin of your thighs. “No, it’s no unnatural scent. It’s all you, musky and sweet.” Before you could answer him, he had taken his tongue, swiping clean through your folds, literally growling against them.

Your knees shook, and for a moment you weren’t sure you could stay standing. But one look with those forest green eyes, so calculating, had you straighten them back up. “Don’t you dare fall,” he warned before digging back in as if your pussy was the last meal he would ever eat.

With his tongue swirling around your clit, his fingers found their way to your entrance, pressing, seeking before sinking up to his knuckle. You cried out, loud and long, and you could hear chuckling on the other side of the door.

“Dean,” you pleaded, not knowing what you needed. But knowing you needed more. He looked up, smiling at you, his chin wet with your arousal before he dove back in. You could feel the coil deep in your lower stomach growing tighter with each movement of his tongue and fingers before you buckled. Crying out, you started to sink to your knees, but he moved his hands up, grabbing your wrist and holding you there in a bruising grasp.

Your body shook as you tried to pull away, the sensations driving you over the edge. Your head slammed back into the door, your eyes closed as the orgasm swept through you. Dean chuckled against you before leaning back. “That was fun,” he boasted, his chin wet with your juices. “Now how about you get over on that bed.”

Your legs took a while to move, shaking and barely holding up your weight as you left your jeans and underwear behind. Sitting down on the bed, you waited for his next order, because he was calling every shot and you were gladly going to let him. He came striding forward, adjusting the large bulge in the front of his jeans, eyeing you like a predator stalking his prey. “What should we do next? While I would really like to feel that pert little mouth around my cock, I really can’t wait to sink into that pussy and wreck it.”

You whimpered, aching deep inside at his words. Tugging your bottom lip between your teeth so hard it almost bled, you spread your legs slightly, giving him an invitation to do as he wished. Growling low in his throat, he literally tore off his clothes before pushing you back on the bed. His large frame covered yours, his lips bruising yours in a kiss. His thick thighs parted yours, settling in between them as he leaned back. “I’m not going to take this slow and easy. It will be hard and heavy. It’s your last chance to back out.”

You shook your head, reaching down and grasping the firm globe of his ass. “I need it. Give it to me,” you ordered, and with a growl low in his throat he nudged your entrance, easily sinking in, stretching you almost uncomfortably.

“You gotta relax or this is gonna hurt,” he ordered, his entire body taut, ready to move. Taking a deep breath, you willed yourself to relax. The moment he felt your muscles unclench, he sunk home, the tip of his cock brushing against your cervix. With his hands on either side of your head, his hips began moving, drawing almost all of the way out before sliding back in.

You laid there, your hands clasped in the bed sheet, the feel of him rubbing against your walls driving you wild. You could feel another orgasm rushing through you, but it was quickly stopped when Dean reached over with one hand, wrapping it tightly around your throat.

Your eyes wide, you stared up at him, but his eyes were closed, his head thrown back in ecstasy. He was snapping his hips hard now, his skin slapping against your skin as his grip tightened slightly, your vision starting to fade. Tapping against Dean’s arm, he finally glanced down, letting go for a moment so you could take a breath. “You can take it,” he ordered, placing his hand on your neck once again. “Take it all.”

This time the feeling of his hand tight around your neck wasn’t as scary, and you could let yourself go under his tight grip and bruising pace. You felt it all the way from the tips of your toes, slamming through you with a force you had never felt before. Arching your back, your lungs bursting for air, you came, your entire body shaking uncontrollably.

Dean followed soon after, emptying deep inside you, leaking out around him before he pulled out with a plop. Without saying a word, Dean walked bare naked to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

It would have given you a chance to search the room, but your bones had melted, your muscles refusing to budge. Dean had wrecked you, and you were more than okay with it. Stretching, you winced at the sore muscles, your entire plan going to the wayside as you wondered what Dean was going to do next.


End file.
